Ruby Sights
by Habeous Corpus
Summary: The clock is ticking as the CBI Agents try to catch Red John and save themselves. But as they say, the best laid plans...
1. Mail Time

**A/N-If I owned the rights to ****The Mentalist****, the promos would be longer. Much. Longer. :D**

**I need help with two things—**

***A good name for a homicide unit. Please. It sounds lame, but I need help. **

***Rating feedback. I'm starting with T, but could quite possibly progress to M for violence. **

**And another thing—my first chapters are notoriously short. They get longer. **

**Mail Time**

Rick really hated his job sometimes. Except when he got to deliver the mail to the Special Cases Unit. Theresa Lisbon was the head of that unit, and he loved to see her. The way she moved, the way she commanded everything, yet was kind… It drove him half-mad with love. _Focus, Rick. You're just delivering the mail, _he thought. As he rounded the corner into the bullpen, he looked for her. The other agents took note of this and smiled. There was a letter to Patrick Jane (Hell of a last name!), and Grace Van Pelt (Does she even work here? Don't remember her...), and … Lisbon! He'd have to deliver that one personally. After tossing the other two letters on the desk closest to him, he puttered off in search of Lisbon.

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"Well, that's interesting," a voice said from the old leather couch.

"What, Jane?" Cho asked.

"I don't usually get mail," he remarked as he started to tear open the envelope. Van Pelt opened hers and let out a small shriek. Rigsby looked alarmed.

"I'm an aunt! My sister had a baby!"

"Congratulations. Wait, you have sisters?" Rigsby asked.

"I didn't realize that," Jane added, a little put out. His letter was half opened, and lying on his couch next to him.

"Yes, and for your information, I am the second-oldest." With that, she continued her task. Then Lisbon came into the room. Jane noted her entrance, and smiled.

"We have a case. Fabulous!" Lisbon didn't exactly match his mirth, however. The color drained from his face. He looked at the letter next to him as if it would bite him. He reached for it, and finished opening the envelope.

Dear mister Jane,

You should be admiring my latest masterpiece soon. Although, I must admit,

my opus is probably your family. Have fun, and say hello to your beloved

Chrissie for me. I believe that was her name.

The letter was signed with a red smile.

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	2. Field Trip

**A/N—watched the finale today! (5/20) OMG, I am psyched for next season already. :D Okay, I'll fess up. There will be character death. Lots of it, too. **

***Spoilers for finale* **

**Field Trip**

On the way to the Hotel Kresten, Lisbon had filled in the dots for the rest of the team. "The letter was from the Los Angeles Police. Red John has struck again, and they are nervous." She looked over to Jane; his mind was somewhere else. She ignored it. "They requested help in the letter, and I went to talk to Minelli. He said no at first."

"Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because you almost were shot and killed, and Jane was briefly held hostage by a maniac?" Cho deadpanned. Lisbon shot him a murderous glance in the rearview mirror. "Just sayin'."

"If Minelli said no, then why do we have the lead?" Van Pelt asked.

"I convinced him. It is rightfully ours, of course."

"You're rationalizing, Lisbon. Not a good sign." Jane retorted, having obviously returned from… where ever his mind had been. Lisbon just blushed.

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As they pulled up into the hotel parking lot, there was no creepy feeling. No breath caught in your throat. No shivers down your spine. All was calm and quiet. As the agents got out of the car, they wondered if they were in the right place. Until they arrived in the lobby, which was swarming with uniformed policeman and frightened guests. As they waited for information regarding to the case, the other agents were looking at Jane. Their emotions were played out perfectly, even though they were trying in vain to hide them. Jane just sighed, and said, "Yes, I'm fine. I'm not made of glass." To prove this, he grabbed the nearest officer and asked where the crime scene was, introducing himself as CBI.

"It's in room 3265. It's pretty ghastly; I'm warnin' you," the officer replied. Jane paid him no heed, and pushed on to the room. He paused in front of the elevator as if he was having second thoughts. Then he turned and jogged to the stairs. Jane disappeared into the stairwell.

"If the room number is 3265, does that mean that it's on the thirty-second floor? Boy, Jane's got a lot of walkin' to do," Rigsby remarked.

"It's on the third floor. Even so, I'm taking the elevator," Cho replied.

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Serial killers love to taunt. Red John was no exception. The crime scene was something out of a deluded artist's imagination, literally. The body was cut open in the fashion of Red John, but there was something different this time. A letter was clutched in the dead palm of Miss Lara Kingston. The officers were reading it and talking quietly about it. They had no idea what it meant. They surmised it was from the murderer, but they weren't sure. Agent Lisbon strode into the room through the open door, and commanded with her an air of authority and four other agents. "What do we have?" The officers wordlessly handed over the letter they had been pondering. She read it aloud.

"Dearest cBI agents,

You must be wondering, why this victim? I'll tell you: no reason.

She caught my eye, I guess. I needed a messenger, you see. I wanted to let you know that

Hardy was worth a lot to me. I think he's worth 5 lives. No more, no less.

You'll be sorry."

Jane was at her shoulder, reading it himself. "It's signed with the smiley face," he declared. The tone of his voice was tinged with hurt, rage, and exhaustion.

"_The_ smiley face? What the hell are you talking about?" one of the officers demanded. Cho began a quiet explanation. Jane didn't notice.

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_Coming home was his favorite part of the day most of the time. Tonight was no exception. _

_He was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around his favorite two ladies… and crash until eight tomorrow morning! He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, and began the slog up the stairs. The only thing that kept him from just sitting down on the stairs and sleeping was the fact that his family was upstairs, waiting. But when he finally made it up the stairs and looked down the hallway, all he saw was a piece of paper taped to the door at the end of the hallway…_

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"Jane! What are you staring at?" The sharp voice of Grace Van Pelt shocked him back to the present.

"Ahh… Boot print. Over there." He gingerly stepped over the body and pointed to a surprisingly bold impression tinged with dust. "It looks like a corrector shoe. There's a brand name… Wellington."

Lisbon commanded, "Someone go check out stores that sell them. Are you done, people?" Her team affirmed. "Let's go." As they got ready to leave, Van Pelt grabbed Jane's arm.

"Are you alright?"

"What do you think?" He snapped, and instantly regretted it. However, before he could apologize, she called to Lisbon.

"I'll go check the stores." She turned and walked away from Jane.

"Slick one, Patrick," he said to no one in particular. A few forensics techies giggled.

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In the CBI bullpen, the team was starting a little research on Kingston's background. Rigsby kept looking up at Van Pelt's empty desk and frowning. Finally he spoke. "Where _is _she? It's been four hours. I know she was going to shoe stores, but…"

"She called Lisbon and said that there were only two stores. She should be back," Cho added.

"I'm calling to see where she is." He grabbed his cell phone and left the room. Cho called the stores.

"Hello this is Kimball Cho from the CBI. Yes, I'll hold." He rolled his eyes; Jane snorted. "Oh, hello. No, you're not being investigated. I'd actually like to know if an Agent Van Pelt has been to your store today… No? Okay, thank you for your time." He hung up, and dialed the next store, with the same results.

"She's not answering her phone," Rigsby said as he strode back into the room.

"I have an outstanding favor acquired through a poker game with someone able to do a cell trace. I'll go call it in," said Jane.

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"Grace!"

"Agent Van Pelt!" The voices rang through the ravine. Her phone was on, and close-by. Jane was looking for any trace of the red head, along with practically the entire CBI. Lisbon stepped wrong onto a branch, and fell. She went head over heels down the incline. Jane ran after her.

"Ow! That was dumb." Then she looked next to her: Van Pelt's cell phone with "91" on the display.

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	3. Shock Wave

**A/N- I am going to say this: I will not listen to pleas for mercy. : ) (I'm planning a sequel. 'Nuff said.) Please review, they inspire and make my writing better. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned this, There would be a Mentalist/NCIS crossover very soon. **

**Shock Wave**

People can be so messy, especially in hotel rooms. Sonia Gould was well acquainted with this fact, due to her job as a maid. It may have been a nice hotel she worked at, but the people weren't always so pleasant. As she entered Room 792, she moaned. The entire room was trashed. It looked like there had been a serious struggle. A large suitcase was on the floor, discarded. Lamps were overturned, the bedclothes all over, and even holes in the drywall! Sonia began her work. After making the bed again, she turned her attention to the miniature kitchen. Of all the weird things to leave, a rubber kitchen glove was in the sink. Better that than other rubber items…

After she had returned the main part of the room to tidiness, she focused her attention on the bathroom. "I can't wait to see what this is going to look like," she said to herself sarcastically. When she opened the door, she didn't believe her eyes. Was it paint? A red smile stared back at her from over the sink. She walked over to it, and got a closer look. Or was it blood? Sonia looked over to the tub. "Il mio dio!"

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The CBI officers stood outside room 792 in somber silence. William Mason, leader of the California homicide unit, offered to do a precursory check. Rigsby was pacing like a caged animal, and the team noticed. However, they said nothing, for they felt the same way. Mason came out, and motioned for them to come in.

"I'll question the maid that found the body," Cho hurriedly said, and ducked out. The rest of the team entered quietly, except for Jane. He paused at the door frame, and willed the demons to quiet, willed himself strong. He took a deep breath and followed the rest of the team. After a quick survey of the room, he headed to the bathroom.

_Walking up the stairs, exhausted…_

_The note…_

Jane shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had to keep himself together. Opening the door to the bathroom, he was assaulted with the bloody grin. He stoically turned to the opaque shower door. Rigsby entered behind him, just as Jane was about to slide open the door. As he pushed it back, Rigsby gasped. They had finally found Van Pelt. Unfortunately, she would never know that.

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Teresa Lisbon felt helpless as she watched Van Pelt's casket being lowered into the earth. That was _her _agent, damn it. She should have done something to stop it. But now what? After being to hell and back, where do you go next? As the service came to a close and the people filed away, she saw Rigsby approaching Jane in the distance.

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"Hey." Jane turned around to see Rigsby at his shoulder. "Now I know how you felt."

"How I felt?" Jane asked, mystified.

"When your family was killed. Hopeless, hurt…" His voice trailed off. Jane put his hand on Rigsby's shoulder. When he lifted his head, his countenance was hard. "I want him. I want him bad. I will help you hunt this bastard down." Jane just nodded.

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	4. Adding Insult

**A/N—Sorry about the infrequent updating. It's killing me too. Although, it should get better. Should being the operative word. :D Sorry if it's slightly dark now; it **_**won't**_** get better. This is totally un-beta'd **_**or edited.**_** :0**

**Adding Insult**

Weeks go by quickly in the face of tragedy. This is how it was for the Special Cases Unit of the CBI. Gone was the carefree laughter; now it was accompanied by guilt and tinged with sorrow. No progress had been made on the now-personal Red John case. Jane was dozing on his couch, or at least trying too. He couldn't keep the demons at bay any longer… No. He could; he had to. His thoughts swirled, and eventually they turned to his fellow agents. He was worried about them. Jane had walked this path of sadness already, and he saw his coworkers taking the first few steps. He was most concerned about Rigsby; he had lost the woman he loved. Rigsby had gone home early today, and seemed very melancholy. Well, they all had. But Rigsby was especially worrying him.

"Well, what's the worst that could happen?" Jane asked the empty CBI building. He was going to go check on him.

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"Rigsby? It's me, Jane." He really felt dumb. Really dumb. Here he was, standing in front of Rigsby's apartment. What was he going to say to Rigsby? _Oh, hey. I thought I'd check on you, not to be weird or anything… You know what? Screw it._ He gathered his courage and knocked a little louder. There was still no answer. "Rigsby, I will break down this damn door!"

Silence.

Jane looked around the empty hallway. No one was there. Good. No one would see him pick the lock. It offered no challenge, and he soon gained access to the apartment. It was sparsely furnished, and seemed pleasant enough. But there was something that unnerved him. As he went into the bedroom, he braced himself for the worst. He opened the door, and immediately felt stupid. It was neat and organized; no murder in sight. Jane laughed at his own foolishness. As he turned to leave, something in the kitchen caught his eye. As he took a closer look, time seemed to slow down. Rigsby was on the floor in a pool of blood. A gun was next to him with a silencer affixed to the barrel. A note was tacked onto the frigidaire: "I hope there is a heaven," scrawled hastily. Yet all around, there were traces of a slight struggle.

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The CBI agents were all sitting near the doorway in pajamas and warm-ups, trying to pull themselves together. It had only been three hours, but those hours felt like eons. They weren't there as investigators, but as concerned friends with good connections. The three all had conflicting emotions. Jane was uneasy and looked slightly ill. Cho had a blank countenance akin to emotional surrender. "Pissed" would be the only word good to describe Lisbon. She was bitter at herself, at Jane for dragging them into this Red John crap, at Red John himself for being such a ruthless bastard, and at Rigsby for quitting on them. She knew the last one was completely irrational, but she felt that way anyway.

William Hardy, leader of the Homicide unit, stepped outside. He sat down near the team, and began a carefully planned conversation. "I'm sorry for your loss." His only answers were three cold stares. He went on, "We've ruled it a suicide. I don't think it was this Red John guy, and neither did my team. You can go in if you like." They rose and filed into the apartment. Jane walked over to the window, and said, "This window has scratches all around the frame. It was forced open."

One of the forensic techs spoke up. "How do you know those scratches were created last night? They could have been created anytime. And besides, the evidence stacks up: it was a suicide." She continued with her evidence collection. Cho walked over to the note Rigsby left.

"Wasn't Rigsby right-handed?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?" Lisbon replied with a frown.

"The smudging of the ink suggests that this was written by a southpaw."

"He didn't write it himself. Wonderful." It was said without mirth or happiness, just exhaustiveness.

Cho must have had his morning coffee, because the next thing he said was, "I see something else. There's… stuff. Under his fingernails. What is it?"

"I don't know. I'll grab one of the officers," Lisbon told him. She left the room. Cho could hear a whispered conversation in the living room, then a sigh. Lisbon reappeared. "They say it's his own; that scratches on his body correlate. However, I asked them to make sure, because things are not always what they seem."

"All right, boss. Are we done here?"

"We're not going to be done for a while yet. But we're done here." With this cryptic statement, she turned and departed. A confused Cho could only follow.

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The funeral was simple. Wayne Rigsby was cremated, and his ashes were to remain with his family. The entire CBI was in attendance, just as for Van Pelt. Virgil Minelli tried to support his team, but he was trying to keep himself stable as well. It was a Herculean task, and much too great for anyone. The Special Cases Unit was just finished. Finished with life, finished with police work. Even so, they kept at it, because they knew the pain would heal over time. It could only get better, or so they hoped. Somehow, they would find the strength to carry on .They usually did.

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A few days after the funeral, a report came to Lisbon's office. She was almost afraid to open it, seeing the trouble that the last few had gotten her team into. Nevertheless, she tore it open with sharp, decisive strokes. It was the forensics report on the matter under Rigsby's fingernails. Her eyes scanned the page. The match was…negative! Cho had been right. Thank God. It wasn't suicide. Lisbon smiled a rare smile and lifted the handset of her office phone. She was going to give that William Mason the _word_!

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**Okay, please review. I may stop writing for a while b/c things are getting CRAZY! If I do, don't shoot me. (no, this story won't end with someone smelling an orange. Rest assured… :D)**


	5. The Hunt

**A/N—I am sorry about the lateness of this chapter. My laptop threw a hissy fit, and I was on the receiving end. :( I am going to turn "Mason" into a real beauty of a guy. ;) **

**The Hunt**

"Are you sure Rigsby was murdered?" Minelli asked for the fourth time.

"Yes, damn it! We are very sure," Jane thundered. "The skin and blood under his fingernails was not his." He let out a breath, and his anger seemed to dissipate. "Mason and his team are running the sample now."

Cho was grateful for the subject change. "All they know is that it's male. We should hear about the full results tomorrow."

Minelli just harrumphed at Jane and left, muttering something about a lot to do. The three agents just sat in subdued silence. This seemed to be happening much more frequently; they realized this but didn't care. The subdued silence was suddenly shattered by a baritone voice at the far end of the hallway chewing out a secretary.

"I need to speak with that unit!" A quieter, female voice could be heard protesting. "Well, la-ti-da. Let me tell you what to do with your protocol." A disgusted shriek could be heard a few seconds later.

"Hopefully 'that unit' isn't us," Lisbon said to the other two agents.

"It is," Jane told her, grimacing.

Right after he had said that, Mason strode into the bullpen as if he owned the place. "I need to talk with you. My team and I have drawn up a protection plan for you, and I'm going to need your full cooperation in this. First—"

He was interrupted by Jane. "That won't be necessary. We graciously decline," he told Mason with a plastered 100-watt smile. Mason just ignored him with a scowl and continued.

"First, you will each be taken to a secure location with a guard detail. From there—"

"So you're going to hole us up in a smelly motel or house until we die of cabin fever?" Cho pointedly asked.

Mason looked fit to be tied until Lisbon interjected, "The safe location sounds like overkill, but the guard detail sounds like a plan." She was always the one quick to defuse tricky situations. Cho and Jane just looked at her with a look that plainly said, _what the hell are you doing, boss?_

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Lisbon must have angered Lady Fate, because She was really dumping on her. Either that, or Fate had a sick, twisted mind. Mason was dead-set on Jane staying with Lisbon for the night. Lisbon had naturally demanded answers, and Mason told her that it was a good idea. Of course, she was one of the best agents in California, and Jane was only a consultant. Lisbon had thought to herself, _Just a consultant, right? We'll see what you say when he hypnotizes you googly-eyed…_ However, she kept this to herself and opted for throwing her weight around to get out of this. She flaunted her position and tried to cow him into giving in. Alas, it did not work. Mason not so subtly reminded her that he was in charge, not her, and that she should just listen to him. Lisbon thought she detected a slight bit of chauvinism, but she dismissed it. Therefore, now she had a guard outside, and Patrick Jane sinking into an armchair, staring off into space.

"Is my living room that interesting?" she teased.

"What? Oh… sorry. Just woolgathering." He seemed genuinely sheepish.

"No apology needed. It's eleven o'clock, and I'm going to bed. You should too."

"Yes, Mommy." Lisbon just rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling as she headed towards her bedroom. It had been a while since she really, truly smiled, and it felt good.

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Lisbon awoke with a start at 5:45, before her alarm. Waking before her alarm was unheard of for Lisbon. Lisbon sat up, trying to figure out why she had stirred. A sound? Or a certain serial killer.

Oh, God.

Lisbon sprang out of bed and grabbed her Glock. She ran out of her bedroom, and froze, listening. A noise in the kitchen caught her notice, and she barreled towards it. As she reached the threshold, she bellowed, "Freeze!"

The "intruder" barely looked up. "If you didn't want me to make breakfast, you should have said something," Jane pouted while expertly cracking a few eggs into a metal bowl. Lisbon sighed and leaned against the doorframe. _He was already dressed? What time did he get up? _she thought.

"Nothing like a good adrenaline rush to start your day," she grumbled.

"Oh, I prefer tea myself, but to each his own!" he replied cheerily.

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A few hours later, they arrived at CBI headquarters. Cho greeted them at the line for the metal detector. "I see that Jane has not been strangled to death."

"Yet," Lisbon added with a smile.

"Oh, she almost plugged me when I was making breakfast," he informed Cho as he walked through the machine. It did not go off. "Yes! First time. Anyway, I had just found a pan to make eggs with, and she has her gun, yelling, 'Freeze!'"

Cho cracked a rare smile, and then asked, "Why was Jane making breakfast?" Lisbon looked like she was about to rip his head off.

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As they stepped into the bullpen, Mason was there waiting for them. "I'd like to review past cases to get a better idea of this Red John person. I've looked at all the case files, and now I'd actually like to talk to people involved. That means you, Mr. Jane. Come with me." With that, he got up, and headed to the interrogation room.

After he was out of earshot, Cho told Jane, "Give that jerk hell." Jane just sighed and plodded after him.

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"So, Mr. Jane, why you? Why did Red John pick your family out of all the people in California?"

"Because I insulted him."

"That's it?"

"And I was also hunting him. I used to farm out my… _talents _to the police for a little extra cash. I happened to be working on the Red John case at the time."

"How did you insult him?"

"A talk show host asked me to comment on him, and I said he was sick and sad."

"Why are you being so guarded?"

"Why did you change the subject, Agent Mason?"

Mason gave him a dark look, and backtracked. "That's all you said? And he killed two people over that?"

"Obviously. Either he did, or I bought two tombstones for nothing," Jane spat.

Mason cleared his throat. "Tell me what happened on May 31, 2005. Do you still remember?"

Jane scoffed. "I'll pretend you didn't ask that. I left for work, did a show, and commented on Red John. When I came home, I was quite pleased, and I wanted to see my family."

"That's not all."

"No kidding, Sherlock. I'm not done. If you haven't noticed," he growled, "this isn't the most comfortable topic for me. Anyway, I arrived home. The home was silent. That was the first red flag. Usually there were small little noises. However, I just chalked it up to my hearing problem. So, I went upstairs to see what they were up to."

"And?"

"If you keep interrupting, you won't hear what I have to say. Besides, you're being irksome." Jane leaned back into his seat and stared into the one-way mirror.

"Are you going to finish?"

"I'm not sure if I will." Two raps from the other side of the mirror got his attention. "All, right, but I'm only doing it for you, Lisbon," he told the mirror.

"How do you know it's her?" Mason asked.

"Why do you ask silly questions?" Jane fired back. He lowered his voice. "When I reached the top of the stairs, I looked down the hallway. There was a note attached to the door. It read—"

"There was a copy in the file. Go on."

"I opened the door and… and…" Jane let his head drop into his hands. Jane let his head drop into his hands. "That smiley face was on the wall. That bastard killed my family." He was speaking so quietly through his clenched teeth that Mason could barely hear him.

Mason nodded. "And what did you do?"

"That's where things get fuzzy. I remember calling the police, and from there, bits and pieces."

"Why is that?" Mason pressed.

"I had a mental breakdown. Once I began treatment, things start to clear up."

"Do you feel any hatred towards Red John?"

Jane just stared at him incredulously. "Excuse me? Did you just ask what I thought you asked? Of course I do. I am going to find that son-of-a-bitch and kill him. Any questions." Mason hurriedly shook his head. "Good. I'm leaving."

"Ah, Mr. Jane—"

"Not a question," Jane called over his shoulder as he yanked the door open.

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"Wow."

"I know, boss. I know. Should I attempt damage control?" Cho asked.

"Go for it. Just," she took a breath, "don't push the envelope, alright?" Cho nodded and left. Mason was sitting in the empty interrogation room, staring at the mirror.

"Your turn, Agent Lisbon."

_Good God, this man is cruising for a bruising,_ Lisbon thought to herself. She collected herself, and entered. "What do you need?"

"Information pertaining to the case involving a friend of Red John. The one that ended up dead in Tijuana."

"All right. This guy comes to Jane saying that he has information. If Jane bails him out of the murder rap, then he would sing like a canary. We reopened the case, and eventually found that the mother did it. The man ran away before he gave any information, and he ended up dead in a motel room."

"Is it true that during the case Mr. Jane quit and the entire team was suspended?"

"Yes. Are you judging us?"

"No, that's all I need to know, you are free to go."

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As Lisbon came back from the interrogation room, she popped into the kitchen. Cho and Jane were there, talking quietly over a cup of tea. Neither man looked himself. Jane looked tired and pale, and Cho as if he was restless. Lisbon tried to find the right words to say, but none came. She quietly walked away.

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A week later, a bubble mailer found its way to the CBI's secretary. She, in doing her job, forwarded it to the Special Cases Unit. Jane found it, and decided to open it. He shook out the contents, and a small object wrapped in bubble pack with a letter was the extent of the contents. Cho came behind him.

"What's that?"

"I have no idea."

"Here, I'll take the letter, and you deal with the little bubble thing." Cho took the letter from Jane's hand, and began to read.

"To all my friends at the cBI:

I have been a little under the weather lately. agent Rigsby is a strong man,

and he landed a few good ones, if you know what I mean.

I didn't get a chance to finish my masterpiece, so here's a vial of blood.  
Maybe you can conclude it for me."

As Cho looked up from the letter, he met Jane's glance. It made his blood run cold. Jane's face was smooth and calm, but his eyes and hands betrayed him. His hands were clenched around the vial, and his eyes seemed to express everything he was not saying. Cho heard Lisbon's footsteps behind him, but was unable to peel himself from Jane's gaze. Lisbon walked up to Jane and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

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_Theresa Lisbon was walking the halls of the CBI offices. She knew the place well; she was there enough. She rounded the corner and stepped into the bullpen. The entire team was there, including Rigsby and Van Pelt. A small part of her found this strange, but she dismissed it. _

"_Hey, boss," Rigsby greeted her. "It's your fault," he said to her in almost the same breath. _

"_What? What's my fault?"_

"_Our deaths," Van Pelt clarified, barely looking up from her paperwork. _

_Jane casually said to Cho, "Think we're next?"_

"_Probably," Cho answered. Then the two looked at her without a word. Lisbon had an irrepressible urge to turn and run. She gave into this urge. She burst through the doors leading to the outside, and paused to catch her breath. She turned around and her four pursuers were right behind her. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. _

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Lisbon awoke with a start. She always tried not to think about things that worried her before bed, because she was prone to nightmares. She reflected on what Jane and Cho had said in her dream. _I hope I'm not psychic…_

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	6. The Hunted

**The Hunted**

One step forward, two steps back. Every few days, they thought they had something, but it was useless. It went on like this for about two weeks. Then, Mason found out about the "unofficial" work and complained to Minelli. When the Special Cases unit caught hell for their work, they grudgingly abandoned the project. There were other cases, but they were just bodies and characters. Nothing but dry, wispy things such that you would find in dime-store novels written by desperate authors. The team tried to amuse themselves in many ways. Walks, card games, paperwork, things like that. Cho frequently went for walks, leaving Lisbon and Jane behind. He didn't go alone; he normally went with a guard. This time was not any different. He left without a word. Unlike other times, he took a different route. He liked this particular path; it took him near the Mantache Vineyard. He never let on, but he was fond of wildlife and nature. His guard, Officer Neosho, was not. The man huffed and puffed after every hill, and fell over _everything!_ Nevertheless, he suffered in silence; he never complained to his charge. Cho was in a good mood, so he decided to cut the poor guy a break and stop at the top of the hill. As he looked out onto the sunset, he felt a sense of calm. Which was immediately broken.

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Michael Glennanne stepped into the empty loading dock. He was proposing to his girlfriend tomorrow, and he left the ring here. He bought it on his way to work today, and he wanted to show it off to the guys. The guys were very impressed. Mike thought he had put it in his pocket after show-and-tell, but it wasn't there when he got home. So, he was retracing his steps to try to _find that ring! _He didn't leave the vineyard's loading dock at all today, so it had to be here. After he had torn apart his locker, he went out into the main loading area. It was scary after hours. There were eerie shadows that didn't quite exist in the daytime. A low moan came from the area of the boiler room. Or did it? That boiler was so old; it probably rang in Washington's inauguration. That moan couldn't have been a human. He was alone, right? Right? He looked around wildly. Then he caught a hold of his imagination. _Michael Glennanne, you are a fool. _ He continued his search for the ring. How was he going to propose with out it? "Honey, I lost your engagement ring, but marry me anyway?" Yeah. _That_ would go well. Just as he had checked one row of wine barrels, he heard a sound that made his blood turn to ice in his veins. A scream had rung out. Or was it something else? Michael was caught between his imagination and his rationalizations. Before he could dismiss the "scream," he heard another one. Except this one was different.

"_Help!"_

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Mason burst into the bullpen, out of breath. "What was the name of Cho's guard?"

Jane fixated him with a sideways glance. "Ah, Neosho, I believe. Why?"

"Get Lisbon. Mantache Vineyard. Now!" Mason commanded. A confused Jane hesitantly obeyed.

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"Where's Michael now?" a weary Lisbon asked.

"He's with a few officers, formulating his statement."

"You said all he heard was a scream, Mason?" Jane asked.

"Yes, that is correct."

"Then why are we here, standing in front of a deserted winery, save police officers?"

Mason took a deep breath and looked down at his feet. "I didn't want to tell you this at first, because I thought it would upset you. Neosho was found dead in the northwest field of this vineyard. And ten minutes later, a disturbance was reported at the loading dock. You do the math."

Lisbon stepped very close to Mason. "You bastard. Why didn't you share this information with us? Huh? Because you thought it would upset us? We're not children!" she raged.

"Well, I…"

"Was stupid? Foolish? Irksome?" Jane needled. "Or maybe… wrong? Any of those work for you?"

Lisbon shoved Mason aside, and strode towards the loading dock. Jane followed after shooting a look at Mason that said, "You brought it on yourself, sucker."

When the duo stepped into the dock, they passed an energetic older man, lecturing his younger assistant. Jane stepped aside to ask him a question. "What exactly happened here?"

"Oh, it's ghastly." The man spoke with a moderate Scottish accent. "It's some what…" the man said, searching for a good word.

"Artistically done? In a sick, twisted way," the assistant hurriedly finished.

"Yes, exactly the word, Mr. Palmer."

Jane tried to ignore the cold, metallic feeling growing in his entrails and went off into the direction the man was looking. As he looked behind him, he noticed that the back of their jackets said "Medical Examiner." That couldn't be good. Lisbon was ahead of him, already taking in the scene. But something was off with her body language. She always got a little depressed when she was doing an examination of a corpse. However, this time it was much more pronounced. As he rounded the corner, the first thing he saw was the smiley face. He felt his knees weaken, because he knew what the next thing was. The body. He feebly prayed that it was someone other that Kimball Cho. Unfortunately, it was not answered. The first thing he noticed was that… _it_ was only half-done. Red John usually made a succession of cuts over the victim's body. The cuts here were only on one half of the body. It didn't make sense. It was almost… unfinished.

"What exactly did the witness see?" Jane asked the forensic tech.

"Heard," she corrected. "He heard a few weird sounds, a moan, and a cry for help. That's it."

Lisbon came over. "What was he doing here?"

"Left something. A ring of some sort." Lisbon nodded in response. Jane pulled her aside and said, "I think Red John was interrupted. He wasn't finished. The face is haphazard, and it looks hurried." Before Lisbon could respond, a squealing creak rang out. The two CBI agents visibly flinched, even though the other officers in attendance barely looked up. Obviously, the past four months had taken a toll on them; they just didn't want to admit it.

A quiet "What the hell…" brought them back to focus. The forensics found a scrawled note under a low shelf:

"Deep quiet voice

Keys- lots

Cane

Knife"

From that point on, the words began to get messy and scrawled.

"Work clothes and mask

Hel"

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Bureaucracies life and die by files. Lose one, and the entire investigation could quite possibly be screwed. Some files are more important than others. The files that Lisbon and Jane received after their friend's demise quite possibly could save their lives. Or endanger them. Life is a fragile thing; it can leave at any time. However, Mason, for all his arrogance, knew how protect people. And he shared these talents with the remnants of the Special Cases Unit of the California CBI.

Lisbon had approached William Mason and asked him for the details of the protection plan. He, in response, had given her two files. One for her, and one for Jane. It was a pretty decent plan. Lisbon and Jane were to be taken to a hotel in Sacramento, complete with plainclothes guards. The hotel was one of the backup safe houses the CBI used, so it was familiar with protocol. The kicker was that Witness Protection rules applied. No one outside of the lead team knew anything, and the people being protected could not contact anyone directly. Everything went through a third party. This way, no one could be tracked. The system was nearly air-tight. At least, they hoped it was.

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Spending a night with Jane wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would be. It was actually pleasant, because he laid off the "I want in your head, woman" thing. Which was quite refreshing, but also worrying. She couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was exhausted, and _couldn't _use his skills. The next morning, she unpacked a little. She had brought some of the case files, even thought it was risky. Mason had no idea they were in her possession, and she intended to keep it that way.

As she flipped open the first file in the stack, she winced inwardly. It was Van Pelt's murder. _Not the best way to start off, Theresa,_ she thought. After that, it went downhill. After thirty minutes, Lisbon knew she was beaten. The files were tossed aside with a sigh. It could wait…

_Jane was awfully quiet, _Lisbon thought. "Jane?" There was no answer. _He's up to something. _

Lisbon smiled. If he wanted to play find and seek, that was fine by her. She began looking for him. The hotel room was only so big; she had to catch him eventually. However, after twenty minutes, she was getting worried. "Jane?" she called. "Oh, you are a dead man," she said to no one in particular.

Then a thought occurred to her. And she immediately regretted it.

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**YAY! I'm finished! (this chapter, not the story. I have like, five more. Then the sequel :D ) Attention: Jisbony goodness ahead. **


	7. The Storm Eye or End?

**Disclaimer: If I owned The Mentalist, the beach scene in Redwood would have probably been topless. But I don't own it. Damn!**

**Ps. I made two references to popular TV shows in the last chapter. One on USA, and another on CBS. Can you find them and leave a review explaining maybe? :D **

**The Storm—Eye or End?**

Jane had a certain penchant for tea. So, of course, he was very pleased when they had a complimentary hot beverage bar in the hotel lobby. It didn't taste as if he made it himself, but at least the water came to a full boil. As he was heading back up to his room, he noticed two kitchen staff members talking, a man and a woman.

"You're sick! Go home."

The man sighed. "But I don't want to leave you all alone again. I can do it!" The woman responded by grabbing the man by the shoulders and whirling him around to face the revolving hotel door. "All right," he surrendered wearily. "See you tomorrow, hopefully."

Once the man had left, the woman put her hand to her forehead and sighed. Jane set down his tea on a nearby side table and approached her. "Do you need a hand?"

Red immediately flushed into her features as she stammered her reply. "Oh, no, I don't need any help; it's only about an hour until the next shift comes in."

However, by the time she had finished, she found her arm-in-arm with a dashing gentleman, heading towards the kitchen. "Or, you can help," she muttered, though not with ingratitude.

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Jane went up to his room an hour later, feeling very refreshed despite working in the kitchen hefting buckets of soapy water and plates around. It was the kind of refreshment that came from a happy mind and a clear consciousness. Jane let his mind wander for once as treaded the halls of the third floor. As he slipped his key card into the door slot, he heard a commotion within. He opened the door slowly, and crept into the room. His imagination ran away from him and started to churn out wild fantasies. What if—

"Jane!" Lisbon tackled him with a (passionate?) embrace. "Thank God you're all right!"

"Ah—" For once, he was at a loss for words. Was she making a move, or… what? "That was…"

Lisbon detached herself from him and finished his sentence. "Stupid? Irresponsible? Something that made me go sick with worry? Yeah, it was! What were you thinking? Where were you? What were you doing?" Lisbon had obviously run out of things to say, because she just sat there and stared at Jane. "Well?"

Jane had been in situations like this before, and he knew the wisest course of action. He wrapped his arms around Lisbon and prayed she didn't beat the daylights out of him. She didn't. Instead she did something very surprising: she relaxed, and buried her face in his suit coat.

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Virgil Minelli sat at his desk and debated whether or not to turn in his badge. He didn't deserve it. It said, "To Serve and Protect." Like that was true for him. He let a team—_his_ team—be massacred and had to turn over control of their protection to a damn homicide unit! Minelli let his head drop to the desktop. He wanted to surrender badly, but he knew it would let down the rest of the CBI. Minutes passed by unnoticed by Virgil. He was lost in his thoughts and pain. One recurring idea kept nagging him the entire time, though. He was in the same position Jane was five years ago. Also, he wanted the same thing: the restoration of order in his life. Consequentially, that want of order translated to want of revenge. Minelli understood now perfectly. He pulled out a sheet of paper and began jotting down a list of ideas. "Ray Taragaglio" was something written down as a possible lead. He would find this bastard or die trying.

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Mason and his team were up bright and early investigating another Red John murder. The victim's name was Christian Metzo, a former psychiatrist. This one wasn't elaborate, but it was painstakingly done. The Homicide people were almost relived, because this meant that either Jane or Lisbon was spared. Unfortunately, this meant that protection slackened a bit. A week later, another body was found. The CBI personnel relaxed, but Mason wanted to keep at least minimal security for the pair.

Lisbon couldn't help but think that it was almost too good to be true. They were spared? Or was it better to be dead? The stress-induced apathy wore off, and the pair began felling the true loss they had experienced. They were out of one forest, and into another.

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**Don't forget to read and review!!! I know this was short, and the next one will be too. Sorry, but that's just the way things roll. :D I am working on** **the sequel , so there! :) **


	8. The Opus Part One

**A/N—If anyone cares, the references were "Michael Glennanne" (Burn Notice, USA network) and the M.E/assistant (NCIS, CBS network). **

**Kudos to kathiann, who knew what happened next before posting, as always. ( :D )**

**The Opus (Part One)**

The modest hotel room had begun to feel like home. Although, not completely the same. Lisbon could actually fall asleep easily at home, but that was getting better. She figured that meant she was getting used to this new life. She looked at the clock. 11:29 P.M. She was the only one awake in the room. The guard, Henry, had crashed in the adjoining room a few hours ago, and she could hear him snoring. Jane was sleeping in the bed on the other side of the room. He had taken a sleeping pill, so he wouldn't be coherent for another four hours.

Lisbon hadn't been out of work this long in all the years she had been an officer. The new team was getting settled, and Lisbon was going to meet them tomorrow. Even though the newbies had come with sparkling recommendations, Lisbon still wanted to be at the CBI offices. On the other hand, maybe it was better if she didn't. The media had just found out about the "Police Massacre," as they liked to call it. The little penning vultures were pestering anyone and everyone in connection. The protection detail had seen that Lisbon and Jane had been left alone. Nothing like an assault rifle in your face to discourage you.

Lisbon got up to go wash her face in the bathroom. As she looked in the mirror, she noted the condition of her reflection. It had a tired, perseverant look. She had seen it somewhere else; she couldn't place it though. She finished up and went back to bed. While pulling the covers up to her chin, she looked over at Jane's sleeping form. Then she realized where she had seen that look before. Jane got it whenever the demons of his past caught up to him. Lisbon sighed. Now she realized exactly what he had been feeling all these years.

Suddenly, there was a scrabbling on the balcony, as if someone was on it. She heard the guard stir in the other room. Then a thump. The door separating the two rooms opened a crack. A dark form entered the room; it was probably Henry.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing." Henry sounded a little hoarse.

Lisbon closed her eyes and waited for Henry to go back to sleep. Instead, a rag was pushed over her face and mouth. It smelled sweet, and Lisbon's mind started to race. Someone was trying to knock her out with chloroform! She tried to fight it, but her need for oxygen won out. She slipped into unconscious darkness.

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Jane woke up to sunlight gently streaming through the hotel room. He sat up and stretched. Nothing could compare to a good night's sleep in his opinion. He looked over at Lisbon's bed to say good morning, but she was not there. He got up and began looking for her. After a few minutes, he had concluded that she was not in the room. Jane decided to call her cell phone. As a security precaution, any time they left the room, it was mandatory to take their cell phone. He dialed the number, and waited. He heard ringing on the other line, and a faint echo. He followed the sound of the echo, and it led him to the bedroom. He pulled back the bed skirt, and the source of the ringing was discovered: her phone was underneath the bed. A cold, sick feeling invaded Jane's soul.

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**Another short chappie. : ( But for the next one, my target is 3,000 (!) words. So, it may take a while to write. Thanks for reading, and don't **_**forget to review!**_


	9. The Opus Part Two

**A/N—Red John is not lightning. (I'll explain later…) BTW, Henry is a good guy. **

**The Opus (Part Two)**

As soon Jane had found that Lisbon was missing, he had called Mason. They arrived a few hours later to shuttle Jane away to safety. However, he didn't want safety; he wanted to find Lisbon. As he was exiting, they brought out Henry's unconscious form on a stretcher. He stopped one of the paramedics. "Will he be all right?"

"Yeah. A nasty bump, but he should recover," the paramedic replied.

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Waking up from strong narcotics is not a pleasant experience. It gives you a feeling of terror, as your consciousness rebels against the damned substance. Your mind spirals out of control as it tries to figure out the riddle of your existence in the moment. Then control is restored, somewhat. Lisbon was still woozy and weak, but she could manage. Her training kicked in, and she started analyzing.

The room was small, but there were open doorways. This room led somewhere else. It was dark, but shadows were visible. There was a table with only three chairs to her far left. She was tied to the fourth in the middle of the room. Her arms were secured tightly behind her back with rope. Her ankles were not tied down, but her left ankle felt as though someone had whacked it with a 2x4. She tapped her foot, hoping to gain information on the flooring material. It sounded hard, like linoleum or hardwood.

Footsteps came from the behind left. "Hello, Theresa." It was the same voice as the one from the hotel room.

_Show no fear. _"Agent Lisbon to you. And you are?"

"Ask Patrick. He'd know."

"What do you mean? Are you Henry?"

"No. Try again," he snarled.

"I don't know." She was exhausted, and in no mood for mind games.

"You don't know?" he mocked.

_Crap. _"Red John?" she said with an air of nonchalance and irritation.

A chuckle. "You could say that."

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Jane sat inside a different safe house, ready to beat his way out of there with brute force. He didn't want to be there, because he should be finding Lisbon! She was all he had, and he was about to lose her.

Maybe brute force wouldn't be such a good idea. Nonchalantly slipping out would be difficult, but a distraction/disappearance should be easy. If he played a diversion, then it would be all too easy. The two agents guarding the safe house were under strict orders: no one in, no one out. A few low-tech gadgets helped them carry out these orders. One was a discreet webcam installed on a laptop, which would be easy to avoid. The other was something found in many home alarm systems. It consisted of two contact points affixed to a door or window. One half would be affixed to the door, the other to the doorjamb. It was the same with the windows. That way, if the door or window was opened, the contact points were separated, and an alarm would be triggered. If he separated the contact points, they would think that their security had been breached. It worked the other way; if the contact points were held together with something, you could open the door or window without a peep. _A bit of string around one of those things and we're in business!_

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Twenty minutes later, and he was ready. The agents hardly noticed a thing, as they were absorbed watching "Outside footage," which was really a football game. Jane had prepared one alarm for exit by carefully taping it together. The others were ready to be tripped with the pull of a string. Crude, but effective. He knew Mason would think he was kidnapped, so he had a note affixed to the wall in his room explaining all. He tripped the alarms with a good yank, and all hell broke loose. Jane could hear shouts from the living room as he ducked out of the window he had prepared on the opposite side of the house. That way, he wouldn't bump into either of them as he made a break for it. He didn't stop moving until he reached the end of the block. It opened out onto a major boulevard. There was a taxi passing by, and he hailed it. It was time to don the shining armor, Patrick Jane.

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If there was one thing Patrick Jane had learned from Red John, it was that the serial killer selected his locations carefully most of the time. This usually meant somewhere close to the victim or the victim's family. Sometimes it was chance, but probably not this time. Patrick decided to start with her apartment. Since they hadn't bothered with guarding their houses, He had looked Lisbon up once, planning to go over to her apartment, but he had chickened out. However, he saved the address. Jane again hailed a taxi and headed over.

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A few hours of being in Red John's company, and Lisbon was about to beat the son of a bitch to death. He sat on the small side table in the far left corner and stared at her for what seemed like forever. There was a vase sitting next to him with red roses in it. He took a rose suddenly, and fidgeted with it. Then he got up and crossed behind Lisbon. She felt something being pushed behind her left ear, and she heard a small sigh.

"How beautiful. The red contrasts perfectly with your hair." Only, it wasn't said with affection. It was said with a slippery kind of lust. Lisbon shuddered and tried to shake the rose out of her hair. Immediately, a pair of hands gripped her head and held it still. "Now, now, Agent, you need to relax. Stress is not good for you."

Lisbon tried to hold her tongue, but failed. "You know what's not good for me? Being trapped in a room with a sadistic maniac like you." Her voice rose with every sentence. "And something that would be good for you is letting me go and getting the hell out of California. Because when Jane finds you, you will pray for death."

"Is that so," Red John said as his arms snaked their way around Lisbon's neck.

"Yes, because—" Her words were interrupted by Red John's arms suddenly tightening into a chokehold.

As she gasped for air, Red John just laughed a demonic, hoarse cackle. "Feeling all right? I told you all that stress was not good."

Then it all went black.

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Walking through Lisbon's apartment was kind of a surprise for Jane. It was bare, but appeared lived-in. A little bit like his own house. _Well, what do you know? A common thread between us. _He walked into her kitchen, and he noticed that it seemed a little more "lived-in" than the rest of the house. There were also spice racks and cooking utensils around the kitchen. Jane took this to mean that she liked cooking. After taking a quick look at the refrigerator for notes or other information, he headed to her bedroom. It was neat and orderly, reflecting the state of her office. Nothing interesting at all, to his chagrin. The apartment was small, and it held nothing useful to Jane. He checked the time. It was 10:00 A.M. Four hours had gone by since he had realized Lisbon was missing. Jane sat down on her bed, and thought about his next move. Her parents were dead, and her brothers lived out of state.

However, sometimes the past did predict the future. He thought back to the past few murders. They had been chance, in an impersonal setting. Jane decided he would look into hotels, because that seemed to be a logical next step. No matter what he did, he had better get a move on, because kidnappers usually killed within 24 hours. Hopefully, Red John wasn't like most kidnappers.

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Red John was sitting at the table and chair set. He watched Lisbon's unconscious form as he waited for her to wake up. He hadn't choked her for too long; all she needed was time and oxygen. As if like clockwork, Lisbon started to respond. She struggled against her restraints.

"Untie me, damn it!" Lisbon's fury of earlier was back in full force.

"How cliché. Would you also like a car and an armed escort?" Red John's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Bastard. I hope I'm here to watch you die," Lisbon spat. She was getting fed up.

"Really? I wasn't planning on that. I was planning on attending your funeral next Wednesday, maybe Monday if I underestimated Mr. Jane."

_Next Wednesday? Wait, today is Tuesday! _Lisbon recoiled at this sudden face to face with mortality. Red John saw this and laughed.

"You're just like the rest, aren't you?" He crossed in front of her and knelt. "Brave on the outside, but weak on the inside. No fortitude of character at all. I was hoping you were different."

"You don't become a Special Agent by being weak. After all, you had to drug me, right?" she jabbed.

"Yes, I am aware of that. And Agent Lisbon? Don't try to hide your fear. I will always be able to tell."

His retreating footsteps pounded in Lisbon's ears. She slumped in her chair, almost numb. She had no idea what to think, much less what to do. What _could_ she do?

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One of the perks of being with the state police is instant respect. Well, most of the time. Jane decided to take advantage of this respect while he visited local hotels. He had visited about five when he finally got a lead. A Mr. John Tarataglio had checked in with a woman that morning. He asked for the key to the room, and the hotel staff immediately turned it over. Jane had to wonder how many rules they probably broke. He smiled. He had been spending too much time with Lisbon. Lisbon…

Room 204 was empty when he stepped into the room. Nevertheless, he looked for clues. He opened one of the suitcases and rummaged through it. He found a very skimpy bikini (which went straight back into the suitcase) and other assorted clothes. Obviously, this was just a couple on vacation. Damn. He repacked the suitcase and put it back where he found it. As he turned to leave, he heard voices outside the room. A high, silly female, and a male. The lovebirds were back…

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Ray opened his hotel room door, Jess by his side. There was a man inside the room, making the bed. Jess gave him a look that didn't quite give Ray a good feeling. The man was cleanly dressed, and Ray had a suspicion that Jess found him quite attractive. This intruder looked up, clearly startled.

"¡Mi dios! Mi error. Me iré." He flashed a toothy grin and hurried out.

"Did you understand what he said?" Jess asked her husband.

"I think he said something about being sorry and leaving." He punctuated his sentence with a shrug.

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The next hotel he looked into got him into a little situation. The desk clerk kept looking at Jane with a peculiar stare. Finally, Jane asked him what he was looking at.

"I was told to watch out for someone like you. Is your name Patrick Jane?" the clerk asked.

"No. Agent Rigsby. Pleasure to meet you," he replied, not missing a beat.

"All right. If you run into that Jane fellow, some guy named Mason is looking for him."

Was this guy the village idiot or something?

"I'll be sure to keep an eye out for him. Have a nice day." Jane winced at his horrible timing as he walked out of the hotel. Good thing that guy had been, erm, _challenged_ by the prospect of common sense. If he had asked for credentials, Jane's search would have been prematurely cut short.

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Lisbon's catatonia was broken by the sound of metal grinding rhythmically. She had a fleeting, crazy thought; she imagined it was rescuers. Then her practicality brought her down to earth: it was the sound of a knife being sharpened. Red John was preparing for another "masterpiece." He was correct in placing her funeral. At least she'd be with the team, her parents…

Her mother, lovely Ann. Killed at the prime of her life, leaving behind family. A fate that Theresa Lisbon resigned herself to. "Resign." Such an ugly-sounding word. It has such an appalling connotation, a bad rap. Then Lisbon realized that she didn't have to resign herself. She could fight! In addition, she would, when she came up with a plan. _If _she came up with a plan, ever. The door in front of her opened, and the steel tip of a cutlass peeked through the doorway. Everything beyond the hilt was cloaked in darkness. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Then a shadowy figure entered. Lisbon strained to see anything in the shadowy room.

"Are you ready, Miss Lisbon?"

"_Agent_."

"Agent Lisbon," Red John corrected. A split second went by, then Lisbon comprehended what Red John had just said. He asked if she was ready. Unfortunately, Lisbon had an inkling of what she should be ready _for_. It was now or never for her planning thing. If she could distract him, then she could stay alive until an opportunity opened. She shifted her weight in the chair, and felt a sharp, stinging pain in one of her wrists. There was a sharp metal edge somewhere.

"So, what are you planning on? Or are you going to surprise me?" she asked him as her fingers probed, searching out the barb.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, I just figured that it would be nice to find out what made you tick. After all, you are the only one to outsmart Patrick Jane." Keeping the ego occupied meant extending her lifespan.

"Hmmm." While the serial killer was lost in thought, Lisbon started fraying the ropes encircling her wrists. "Where to start… I'd have to say my favorite part is the…" He paused for emphasis. "Psychological torture. Followed by the actual murder, of course." Red John smiled a wicked grin, but Lisbon was not paying attention. She was concentrating on picking apart the fibers of the rope. It was surprisingly weak, and you could snap the individual fibers very easily. Almost there…

"The smiley face is a little over the top, if you ask me, but that's all right. Each to his own, I say," he told her as he twiddled with the knife. The rope was only hanging on by a thread, literally. Unfortunately, a steel wire formed the core. Lisbon ignored the ache in her hands and started to bend the steel back and forth to stress it. "Now, on with the show, my dearest agent." He held the cutlass at waist height and advanced slowly, but surely.

(How strong is this steel, anyway? Oh, good; it's starting to give…)

Red John looked for the entire world like a reenacter for some far away battle. All that was missing was an old uniform. He was closing in…

(A little more, a little faster… Oh, Lord. Please let this work…) A small snap told Lisbon that her prayer had been answered. She untangled her wrists from the severed ends of rope, and lunged sideways at Red John. The blade got close to her stomach, but didn't cut her. She wrapped her hands around the hilt and yanked it out of his grasp with an enraged roar. Fortunately, Lisbon caught the serial killer at a moment of inattention, and he felt to the ground, off balance. She grabbed the cutlass and ran for the door, ignoring the stabbing pain in her left leg.

Very soon in the future, she would curse this decision, and wish she had stabbed the bastard through the heart first. However, for now, she was giddy with the prospect of survival.

Until the sharp pain of the knife ripped through her lower back. Her legs crumpled, and she laid there on her stomach for what seemed like an eternity, trying to process what happened. Red John had hurled a knife at her, and it had found its mark.

His slow footsteps approached. Lisbon couldn't repress the angst and pain any longer. She let out a scream worthy of Fay Wray. In one swift movement, he ripped out the knife, and stabbed her through the heart.

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Nightfall approached too swiftly for Patrick Jane. Lisbon still had not been found, and that was painful in and of itself. He sat in a diner, surrounded by half-asleep blue-collar workers. A (horrendous) cup of tea sat before him, along with an untouched sandwich. He had no desire to eat, even thought he knew the he had to eat something. So, he slapped a twenty on the table, and left. As he went back to the little car he rented, something caught his eye. A paper under the wiper was flapping in the wind. He took it out to read.

"Billy Rubin. Clever name, mr. Jane.

I bet you're getting sick of roaming everywhere, searching.

Go home. It's where the heart is, of course.

However, tonight, it holds much more than that.

Enjoy, you miserable maggot."

Jane knew the author even before his eyes fell upon the smiley face. It was true, he had rented the car under a fake name. The question was; how did Red John know that? Every day got worse and worse… He got into the car and floored the accelerator. Trillions of thoughts raced through his mind as he raced through the crowded California roads. He drove with reckless abandon, his mind on Lisbon. Was she there? Was she all right?

Jane didn't know which outcome he was more afraid of: her being there, or the note being a hoax.

As he pulled up in front of his house, his adrenal glands went into warp drive, leaving him with an adrenaline kick to beat the band. He feebly tried to unlock the door, but his hands were shaking too badly. Jane took a deep breath to compose himself and gather his signature wits about him. He slowly unlocked the door, and stepped into the foyer. He began a methodical sweep of the house. The downstairs floor offered no hint, so he began the top floor. 20 minutes later, he had checked all the rooms in the house except one. The room where his family was murdered. He took a deep breath, and turned the door handle. As the door opened, he saw the smiley face, like so many times before. However, this time, he could have sworn… No. Impossible.

Did it look different?

Or was it just his imagination?


	10. Surrender

**Surrender**

Angele Gabriel flicked ash off the tip of her cigarette. She was calm, collected, and nonchalant. Gabriel was also in contrast to her rookie partner, Sylvester Reynard. He was nervous, and his eyes darted around wildly. It was his first murder scene since he joined the force.

"Gabriel, what are we waiting for?" he asked, trying to hide his anxiety.

"Well, I'm waiting for you to have a heart attack. Officially, we're waiting for the CBI homicide unit. In other words, the state police."

"Wait, why are you waiting for me to—oh," he finished sheepishly. "Sorry."

"No problem. Dead bodies give me the creeps too," she told him. There was an awkward silence.

"So… What happened?" Reynard asked.

"Well, you heard about that so-called 'Police Massacre,' right?" Gabriel replied, stubbing out her cigarette.

"Yeah, I did. Sad, really."

"It's the boss. She's in there. Looks like a pretty sick case. The funny thing is; another murder case occurred here a few years ago. Smiley face and everything. The sicko even embellished the old face. It now has two rings of blood. And to further thicken the plot, the house belongs to a consultant who worked for said boss. His family was the murder case way back when. "

"Oh. I see. What about that consultant guy?"

"He found her a few hours ago. The guy's going to have PTSD for the rest of his life. He's giving a statement right now." Sylvester just nodded.

"How is he doing?" he asked Gabriel. Gabriel smiled slightly; she loved officers with a sense of humanity. Then she immediately sobered.

"Not too well. I hope he has a few friends to help him out."

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When Mason came to collect Jane after giving his statement, Mason got quite a shock. Jane had left, and no one knew where he went. Going berserk was Mason's response. His bellowing could be heard for at least a mile. However, during his tirade, Jane was getting farther and farther away.

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Jane was in the back of a cab, going to an old school. The place held no meaning to him, and that is why he picked it. The school also had the distinct advantage of being near the California state line, and would only require him to walk a short distance to Nevada. What he would do then, Jane didn't know. All that mattered was getting away. Even though he knew that Lisbon would still be dead, Jane still wanted to run. As the taxi dropped him off, his phone started ringing. The sound startled him; he forgot he had it. He warily checked the caller ID; if it was Mason, he could kiss off and die. However, the caller was not Mason. It was a blocked number, and that could mean only one thing: Red John. He answered it, and the person on the other end said nothing.

Silence.

Finally, Jane got fed up. "Hello?" he barked.

Quiet laughter. "Hello, Mr. Jane."

"Who is this?" A cold feeling invaded his stomach.

"You don't recognize me? You cannot see my 'cold flame,' as you put it?" His voice sounded like motor oil; slippery and cold.

Red John. Of course. Who else? Jane found that, remarkably, he was without anger. Just exhaustion overcame him. He couldn't summon the anger; he was broken. "What do you want?" he asked quietly, with a surrendering tone.

"I want to negotiate with you. You are near Nemann University, no?" He took the silence as a yes. "Good. Come to the Brooks Inn. We shall discuss—_future options_, shall we say?" There was a dark chuckle, and the line disconnected.

Patrick Jane found himself at a crossroads, yet again. This "future options" stuff sounded like a trap. However, wherever there was a trap, the hunter was not far behind. He sat down on the curb to weigh his options. If he played along, he might have a shot at catching this bastard. On the other hand, if he slipped up, then he'd die.

Ah, but was that such a bad thing? To some, maybe, but Jane didn't see it that way. All he had in his life--job(s), friends, family, influence—was all gone. He had nothing to live for, no one to love. His parents were dead, and his brother disowned him. If Red John killed him, that was fine. Not the most preferable means, but a pretty decent end.

Then the voice of reason brought Jane back down to earth. This was near-suicidal! This is why he was institutionalized! And for some reason, Jane didn't care. He just wanted to get this over with.

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The Brooks Inn was old, though by no means ramshackle. A pleasant atmosphere hung about the lobby. Jane took a seat in a large, comfortable armchair. He tried to pass the time by analyzing the human parade through the lobby, yet he found he could not. His skills eluded him for once. Good thing he had a knife to back him up. Still, it would be nice to have full possession of them. Jane took a deep breath and slipped into a light meditation. Maybe he could relax a little bit. Maybe.

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It was now the beginning of first light, so he had been meditating for about an hour. He still felt stressed and physically exhausted, but he was mentally refreshed. That was all that mattered. No crazy homicidal maniac had come bursting through the doors, so Jane had to put revenge on hold. Speaking of physical exhaustion, his ass was dragging. Perhaps he would rent a room and get some sleep. The people at the front desk were courteous, and he was in the elevator going up to his room in no time. As he unlocked the door, his hands were shaking. In light of this fact, he decided to collapse onto the bed, shoes and all. He quickly fell asleep.

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A sharp rapping at the door awakened him four hours later. "Guest services" came from the hallway. He groggily got up, and answered the door. "Sir, did you leave your wallet in the lobby?" A hotel staff member was at the door.

"Er…" He turned around to go check his night table. It wasn't in his pockets. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around. That "hotel staff member" had a lamp over his head, and a positively frightening look on his face.

Moral: Never let strangers into your hotel room when you are being hunted by a serial killer.

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**A/N—For all you peeps out there getting depressed, there will be a sequel. The team (full team we all know and love) will be in it. It will be Supernatural/Justice. (Does FF have a Justice Genre? Shoot…) Anyway, there is light at the end of the tunnel. One more chapter: The Epilogue!!! *dun dun dun***


	11. Epilogue

**A/N—okay, this is the last chapter. And then the sequel, **_**Things Go Bump.**_** *yayers* Anyway, this is going to be in report form: something different. Enjoy! BTW, big shout out to kathiann and Ebony10. Kathiann has been a faithful reviewer. Ebony10 has read this entire thing even though they objected to the plotline. I didn't even have to ask! **

**Epilogue**

**Date:**7/30

**From:**Serg. Gerald Stein

**RE:**Homicide:

Case #003219448

**Number Dead: ** 1 Male, age 40

**Name(s):** Jane, Patrick

**Survived By**: N/A

**Cause of Death: **Exsanguination

**Elaborate, if possible:** The victim was cut repeatedly in short strokes. Blunt-force trauma was found on the victim's skull, which was traced to a lamp found in the room. The victim was also drawn and quartered.

**Description of Crime Scene:** Room in Brooks Inn. Most of victim's blood used as paint to draw on walls. The focal point of the drawing was a large smiley face. Room had signs of a struggle: blood spatters, things knocked down, etc. This suggests torture.

**Notes: **This recent case is almost definitely the work of a serial killer who goes by "Red John." This is his 20th victim, and forensic profilers have deemed him still a risk. Mr. Jane was involved in another "Red John" case six years ago. See Homicide Case #000453092 for more details.

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**A/N—The body count: Jane gets a letter from RJ saying he is happy with his 12 wives. (12) Then the two from Red John's Friends. (14) The Plasket girl. (15) Then the five team members. (20) Ta da! **


End file.
